All For Fun | Jenna Ortega Imagines

All Mine (j.o)

*click click*

"Jenna!"

"Jenna, over here!"

*click click*

"Turn your body!"

"Look straight, Jenna!"

Cameras shuttered and flashed relentlessly at your girlfriend, whom was Jenna Ortega. You were at the Golden Globes with her. Not as her plus one nor as her girlfriend but as her personal assistant. Jenna's schedule was so crazy that she needed one, and as opposed to hiring someone, she just chose you — her lover.

There were many perks to being her personal assistant. You got to travel and eat for free, making a shit ton of money just to hold her headphones, and more importantly, you could spend a lot of time with her.

The two of you have been together for a few months now, having met at a cafe in Montreal when she was filming "Scream 6." A conversation about her bruised knees unlocked an foreign emote within her: desire, but exclusively for you. Jenna wasn't used to desiring someone so much, but she got you; you were hers. Or as she put it; "all mine."

You blew out an uneasy breath as you watched Jenna go further down the carpet. She looked so beautiful; you would drool if you stared any longer. To distract yourself, you watched the many celebrities passing you by with their entourages. You saw so many famous people — Anya Taylor-Joy, Angela Basset, Margot Robbie, and Selena Gomez; the list goes on.

You played with the lanyard around your neck as Lindsey, Jenna's manager, shifted her attention to you.

"Y/N?" she asked. You hummed, making eye contact with her.

"I spotted Percy and his team," she pointed to the tall blonde in the distance, "I'll be back, stay put."

You nodded with a smile. Lindsey went off into the sea of people, leaving you ashore with your nerves. Your eyes wandered to your girlfriend whom was facing you as she posed, she sent a sly smile before giving her gaze back to photographers.

Bored and nervous, you threw your arms up awkwardly. Just as you did so, someone was passing by. A hand caught your arm, groping your bicep involuntarily. Immediately you looked to the direction of the touching, confused.

"Whoa!" The voice called out, "Watch those guns. You almost took me out."

It was a girl. She was a long haired brunette with tanned skin and a scarily symmetrical face. Her eyes were a brisk blue and upturned with lashes extending outward. Her full pink lips perfectly placed between model-type cheeks — in conclusion, she was gorgeous.

"Sorry," you sheepishly smiled then pulled your arm away, "My boss' boss left me here, I don't know what to do with myself."

"So you just swing on people?" She sarcastically suggested, crossing her arms, poking her hip out.

You chuckled, stuffing a hand in your pants pocket, "Apparently, but I mean," you gesture towards her, "you survived."

She laughed, raising her brows, "Barely. I had to use my ninja skills." She uncrossed her arms.

"Ninja skills, huh?" You scratched your nose, smiling after.

As opposed to the girl responding verbally, she demonstrated a series of ninja poses at you with direct eye contact. You found it amusing, laughing up a storm, catching the attention of your girlfriend, "Those are actually some really bad ninjas skills."

She playfully punched your shoulder. You tried to dodge but you moved too late, "See, you couldn't even stop me from punching you. Who really has bad ninja skills?"